


One More Rich in Hope

by LaCorelli



Category: Peter Pan & Related Fandoms, Peter Pan (2003)
Genre: Captain Hook survives the crocodile, Dopplegangers, Dreams & Nightmares, F/M, Gen, Loneliness, Mirror magic, Mysterious Magical Keep, Sort of possession, two sides of the same coin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23318296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaCorelli/pseuds/LaCorelli
Summary: A story about loneliness and envy, and just what Hook is must endure to gain his deepest desire.
Relationships: Captain Hook & Mr. Darling, Captain Hook & Mrs. Darling, Mr. Darling/Mrs. Darling
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. If Thought is Life

**Author's Note:**

> This rather short tale first appeared at FFN and took me three years to finish (first chapter posted in May 2004 and last in October 2007) because of major writer's block. It also inspired my policy of never posting works in progress again, a policy only slightly bent in the case of my New World Zorro story, "Love Has No Rhyme and No Reason", as I considered that a series of highly connected short stories and each was complete when it was originally posted. I haven't really gone back over this story, so all the errors are the errors of my younger self. 
> 
> This story is set during/after the 2003 movie version of Peter Pan, but also incorporates some elements from the original book as well. This is all about Captain Hook, who survives his plunge into the crocodile to awake on an enchanted island beyond Neverland, and is inspired by Jason Isaacs absolutely riveting performance in the film. This is a mainly a story about loneliness and envy, and how much a man is willing to give up to get his heart's desire.

* * *

> When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,  
> I all alone beweep my outcast state,  
> And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries,  
> And look upon myself, and curse my fate,  
> Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,  
> Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,  
> Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,  
> With what I most enjoy contented least:  
> Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,  
> Haply I think on thee,--and then my state  
> (Like to the lark at break of day arising  
> From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate;
> 
>   
> For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings  
> That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
> 
> –William Shakespeare

* * *

_Old, alone, done for_. With those words Hook dropped into the maw of the crocodile. But the curious thing about resignation is that it doesn't last long when you find yourself alive and suffocating in the belly of a beast, and Hook struck out with the one weapon he had left, ripping and tearing till he found himself free of the beast, and even still the ocean might have taken him if the mermaids had not intervened. Why they chose to drag him up from the depths of the sea and drop him onto land, he could not fathom. Perhaps it is because they saw themselves as kindred spirits, dark and cruel, or that they were determined to carry him far from Pan so as not to lessen that eternal boy's triumph. Ultimately, it did not matter to an exhausted Hook dragging himself over the rough rocks of the shore to escape being battered by waves. Barely conscious he managed to crawl past them before losing consciousness entirely, and that's when the magic took hold.

* * *

Hook awoke suddenly with a bellow, thrashing around trying to escape the crocodile, only to discover he was tangled up in the sheets of a large bed. Collecting himself he looked around the room. To his surprise it looked rather like his own cabin on the Jolly Roger, possessing almost same colors and furnishings, and more pertinently, his harness and an array of hooks identical his own. Cautiously he rose and strapped on a hook and then pulled on his boots which sat next to the bed before examining the rest of the room. Pulling open the large mahogany wardrobe on the far side of the room, he discovered the clothes too could be his own and quickly finished dressing before venturing out to explore the limits of this place.

It was deathly quiet all around, so much so that he could hear the steady thump of his own heart as he prowled through lavishly decorated rooms and corridors. His boots sank into thick piles of carpeting laid over stone floors. The walls were covered with tapestries. Coming across a sprawling conservatory overlooking a courtyard, Hook stood on the balcony and looked miserably over the empty expanse. Not even a breeze to stir the heavy atmosphere. The sun shone weakly in the sky.

It was the smell of food that led him to a dining room. A sideboard held an array of still steaming dishes and the elaborate table was set for one. He regarded the scene with suspicion for a moment, but knowing that whatever or whoever had brought him here could already have had him dead, Hook decided simply to eat. At least the clatter of cutlery and the indulgence of wine cut the silence away for a time. After he finished his repast, Hook cleared his throat and more as an experiment rather than in any hopes of getting an answer, addressed the room.

"My compliments to the chef or chefs or spirits of the air," he said, as politely as he could. At least his voice still worked, though it seemed unusually loud. "If you don't mind, I think I'll continue to explore this charming keep." And maybe find something to claw and rip, he thought frustrated with the tomblike atmosphere. Something had to live here.

He exited the dining room, closed the door for a moment and then on impulse turned back and looked back inside. All the dishes were gone, and the sideboard cleared; the room looked untouched. All done without a sound.

"Strange magic this," Hook said. "Or maybe I am dead after all."

He drew his hook across the back of his hand, watching as a line of blood appeared and taking pleasure in the sting. He bled; he felt pain; that was good. However, it still did not explain the mystery of this place. As he continued to prowl through the corridors, Hook suddenly heard a thump ahead. He tore forward and found himself in a badly lit gallery. Taking up a candle, Hook searched for the source of the noise. The walls were lined with portraits of various sizes; Hook was startled to see a likeness of Smee as well as the Wendy and some of those dreadful lost boys before coming upon a full length portrait of Pan in one of his cockiest attitudes. Hook slashed and tore at that one until he saw a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. Spinning round, he saw it was only a mirror half-covered by a curtain, but as he looked closer, he saw something that chilled him. The reflection in the mirror was not his own.


	2. A Mirror Clear

Hook stared at the reflection, if reflection it could be called. There was a superficial likeness, he thought. The blue eyes were familiar, though hidden behind spectacles. The brown hair was the same tint though short and combed back neatly. But there was a weakness and timidity about this specter in the glass which Hook had never allowed in himself. Well, perhaps when it came to the crocodile, but that was the limit. Hook watched as the image moved in sync with his motions. The oddest thing was seeing two good hands instead of one. What was the magic of this place?

"Who are you?" Hook asked, scratching over the mirror with his hook. His only answer was a scrambling noise further up the gallery. 

Turning he moved cautiously up the room, noting that the Pan portrait was back on the wall looking untouched. "Well, at least I have something to amuse me," he murmured as he looked for the source of the sound.

The gallery grew narrower and darker. Hook began to wonder if he heard anything at all when there was a clatter just ahead of him. "Will you walk into my parlor . . ." Hook murmured raising up his claw before turning the corner and finding himself face to face with a lady.

He started back before realizing that it was yet another portrait, though one far more realistic than the others. It was full length and of a beautiful dark-haired woman wearing a pink evening gown. Hook was most struck, however, by the expression in the brown eyes which seemed to be looking straight at him, an expression of devotion and adoration. He reached his hand up to the portrait. "You must have loved the artist very much, my dear. A great pity that sentiment was not shared, and you ended up in a dark corner in a place for the damned." He sighed. "A great pity indeed. You're far too lovely to be here. I don't suppose, though, it was you who made the noise." Scanning around the portrait, Hook spotted a large crack that ran parallel to the frame and pushed against the wall. The picture swung inward. "Hmm, apparently I was wrong about that. Perhaps this is the parlor." Hook stepped through the panel and then pushed aside a heavy drape in front of him and entered a brightly lit room.

The walls were gilt and the carpeting thick. A large overstuffed chair was positioned in the middle of the room facing a large red curtain. On either side of the chair was a table, one holding a selection of candied fruits and cake and the other, decanters of wine and glasses.

"How very hospitable. Now, what is behind this curtain?" Hook found the cord and pulled sharply. The curtain slipped back to reveal what looked to be on first glance simply a wall-sized mirror. However, when Hook took the trouble to actually look at it, he realized that it showed nothing at all. He sighed. "First, a mirror that doesn't reflect me, now one that doesn't reflect at all. Maybe I really am dead, or a vampire. Well, I don't seem to crave blood . . . , " he paused for a moment to think. "At least, no more than I did." 

He looked up and down the blank surface of the wall. What did they do with mirrors in fairy stories? Oh, yes. "Mirror, Mirror on the wall, show me something, anything at all." 

Nothing happened. He gave it a kick. The mirror shuddered. Hook jumped back and watched as the surface swirled and shimmered like water. After a moment, the surface began to calm and an image began to appear. It was the man from the mirror. Only this time, he wasn't Hook's reflection. He was moving on his own, walking down a busy street and softly at first then more clearly, Hook could hear the noises of the city. 

"Now, this is getting interesting," Hook said pouring himself out a glass of wine and taking a piece of fruit, before sitting down in the very comfortable chair. "Spirits of the air, show me what you've got now."


	3. The Sole Unquiet Thing

Hook was wrong. It hadn't been interesting at all, though now he could put a name to his reflection or doppelganger or whatever the tedious man was. George Darling, what an insipid and silly name for a weak and prissy man. He had to be real though; Hook knew that his imagination could have never created such a straitlaced and timid character. He hunched over his work as if he expected a band of cutthroats to descend on him or at the least as if he was in danger of the lash. The man even had to make a list of things to say to his employer. Hook fell asleep as the man looked over his notes and practiced his lines.

Hook woke up back in the same bed as the day before. His head felt incredibly fuzzy. He couldn't have drunk that much, could he? Perhaps it was part of his punishment for daring to survive the crocodile. Villains weren't supposed to live on after youth and virtue triumphed, were they? Bad form, that's what it was. So was he doomed to spend eternity in this isolated place with only a weak-willed bank clerk's antics to satisfy his need for society? Not if he could help it. 

At the very least, there was no need for him to go back to that room to be bored. He was quite good enough company for himself. Besides, he had never finished exploring the Keep. That was a far better idea.

Hook managed to stay away from the picture gallery for most of the day. There were a lot of nooks and crannies to explore, and he was determined to be thorough. He found a music room, a library, an enormous and elaborate conservatory more like a miniature forest than an interior garden. The rooms seemed almost infinite and varied. Nevertheless, the one thing he couldn't find loomed most heavily over him; he couldn't find an exit. The Keep, from what he could tell through the fog that surrounded it, appeared to be built on a steep mountain. There was no door leading to the outside; the windows all overlooked sheer drops. Hook leaned out of a window on the upper levels and looked down on a blank expanse of white. He could neither hear nor see the ocean and wondered what would happen if he just jumped. Would he die, or was that fog as buoyant as the clouds of Neverland? He wasn't quite ready to test the hypothesis, but he was keeping it in mind.

Hook returned to the interior and wandered down to the music room. There was a very fine harpsichord, and he thought it would be soothing to play for a while, even though he always felt the frustration of having basically one digit on the right hand. He seated himself at the instrument. His fingers and his hook hovered over the keys for a moment as he pondered on what to play. Then a half smile crept across his face as he began to sing:

_Avast belay the English Brig_

_We took and quickly sank_

_And for a warning to the crew_

_We made them walk the plank_

_Yo ho, yo ho, the frisky plank_

_He walks along it so_

_Till it goes down_

_And you's go down_

_Tooral looral loo_

He raked his hook across the keys with a flourish. At first it felt good to play again but then he thought on the last time he sang that song. His ship. His cabin. And, ultimately, his failure. Pan! Would he never manage to get past that? Rising quickly, Hook stormed from the room and hastily marched to the gallery. Ignoring the other portraits, he walked straight to the one of Pan. He snatched it off the wall and carried it out to the middle of the courtyard where he set it on fire, and after the flames died down, he stomped on the ashes till it was nothing more than dust. After that pleasant diversion, Hook sauntered back to the dining room where he enjoyed a hearty meal before wandering about again.

Though he was just determined to walk about, Hook once again found himself in the picture gallery. He decided he just wanted to examine the pictures. He had no other motives. No, not another one at all. He looked at Wendy's portrait and then to those of the two boys next to her. These were, he supposed, her brothers. He hadn't really paid that much attention to them; one lost boy was very like another to him– nuisances to the last. Oh, yes, the one with the glasses, he was the one who had called him a savage while hanging upside down. Brave, but not too clever. The other one had been the one with a teddy bear. Hook went back to the mirror. 

Still it showed not his reflection but that of George Darling. He stared at it for a moment. 

"You are, I suppose, their father. No wonder they headed off for Neverland. Never thought to bar those nursery windows, did you?"

Hook moved on to look at Smee's portrait. "I wonder why you are here, old man. A sop to me, perhaps. I doubt it, though. Ah, here's one I missed before." He stood before a portrait of a rather austere though fashionable-looking woman half hidden behind a curtain. "This I suppose is the mother. Seems just the sort for you, George; I imagine she makes you jump through hoops. Is this why you're so twitchy?"

With a curious reluctance, Hook went to look at the lady at the end of the gallery. "Who are you, dear lady? A lost love, an ideal? Why couldn't it have been you who appeared in that curious room? I've no doubt your story is far more interesting," Hook sighed. "I'm not going back in there just to be treated to more tedious images of a very dull banker." The portrait swung back. "No, really. It's not worth the trouble." He moved into the doorway. A light shone across the portrait's face; the lady looked quite ethereal and seemed to have a pleading expression. Hook resigned himself. "All right. Might as well. It's not as if I've a pressing engagement elsewhere."

He entered the room and going to the table poured himself out a stiff drink before standing in front of the blank mirror and giving it another kick. He flung himself down in the chair as the mirror rippled and the picture came into focus. "I'm prepared for another dull evening. What have you got to show me? Please, no more of this man at work, or I shall think my punishment excessive."


	4. The Smiles that Win, The Tints that Glow

It was not another dull evening, but Hook did begin to think his punishment excessive when he first caught sight of the lady in the portrait and realized that she was George Darling's wife. He had expected any number of things but not that. He had no time to prepare his mind for it, as he watched his reflection reach home. Darling opened the door, and there she stood, lovelier in the flesh than in her portrait, greeting the timid fellow with a loving kiss as soon as the front door closed behind him. Hook wanted to reach out and slit his throat–– twice.

The Darlings appeared to have a disgustingly happy home life. An almost palpable cheerfulness seemed to pervade the atmosphere. The children romped up and down, pursued at times by the determined nanny-dog. It was also not long until Hook learned the actual identity of the austere woman; she was George's sister, Millicent, who nevertheless did seem as formidable to George as Hook had supposed. The family gathered around the piano, singing and dancing. Even George seemed to let himself go as he sang a silly ditty about a man who's never been to sea becoming head of the British navy. However, Mary was the one who always commanded Hook's attention. She played the piano with an air and had a smile which seemed to be its own source of light. There was something puzzling about her, as if some small part of her was elsewhere. He also was mystified by a kiss which seemed to hover just at the corner of her mouth, as if waiting to dash out of sight at the first attempt to grasp it. Hook sighed; it was probably for Pan too. Probably the whole clan of women had kisses saved for the boy who wouldn't grow up or properly appreciate them. 

He took another drink and watched as the family finished up the song and the boys demanded a pirate story from their sister. He momentarily brightened as he heard his own name mentioned– "Hook, whose eyes turn red when he guts you." The aunt made noises of feigned shock.

Hook rolled his eyes. "Come off it, madam. You know well enough you'd like a good pirate . . . story. No need to be guardian of propriety all the time. Besides I could use a good story, even if I lose– again."

But it appeared storytelling was at an end, as Aunt Millicent in response to Wendy's declaration that she wanted to write a novel about her as yet to be experienced adventures had to play the proper old maiden and go off on the novelist's low place in society and their low chances of marrying. Both parents seemed startled at the notion, and the boys disgusted.

"But Wendy is not yet 13," Mary protested mildly. Hook observed that Mary seemed frightened at the prospect of her daughter blossoming into womanhood. Hook almost felt pity for Mary. At least he thought that was what it was. Having never felt pity for another living creature, he couldn't be sure. "Yes my dear, growing up _is_ a nasty business," Hook mused.

Aunt Millicent was not to be dissuaded and had Wendy come forward so that she could appraise her. The children giggled at it all, while George was busy trying to keep order in a most ineffectual way. 

After a looking over, Aunt Millicent said, "Yes, it's quite as I expected. Wendy possesses a woman's chin." The girl covered her chin. "Have you not noticed?" She gestured at her niece as she backed away. "Observe her mouth. There hidden in the right-hand corner . . . is that a kiss?"

Hook noticed Mary putting up her hand to her own mouth, not looking too pleased.

"A hidden kiss," Aunt Millicent said, and then responding to Wendy's question about its purpose, continued by saying, "It is for the greatest adventure of all. They that find it have slipped in and out of heaven."

Leaning back in his seat, Hook said in a plaintive tone, "Well, if I had known about this earlier, things would have gone a bit differently." He poured another drink, knocked it back and watched as Mary smiled proudly at her little girl. "I wonder what can be found by those of us who've slipped in and out of hell."

Not too long thereafter, the children were sent from the room and Millicent was haranguing George about his duty in helping Wendy's future. At some point, Hook thought he heard one of the children exclaiming from outside the room. Eavesdroppers. He'd have done the same in his youth, probably. He didn't really remember being young. However, it finally hit him that the scene before him must have taken place shortly before the children left with Pan, the unpleasant complications of growing up.

"George," his sister said, "the daughter of a clerk cannot hope to marry as well as that of a manager. You must attend more parties, make small talk with your superiors at the bank. Wit is very fashionable at the moment."

Hook smiled contemptuously as he saw the horror on George's face as Millicent talked. 

"That's right, George. Wit, the ability to be clever with words and quick with your tongue. I'm sure you'll have no difficulty whatsoever . . . after two or three decades of solid practice," Hook commented sarcastically. "Or better yet, let your good lady be witty for you. I imagine there is little beyond her reach."

Hook watched her sitting next to her husband and tried to determine if her expression was one of sympathy and understanding of his fears or disappointment in his weakness. In any event, it was evident that she knew just how to support and comfort the timid fellow. "George, however, did you manage to get such a perfect creature to marry you?"

As if in response to his question, the mirror began to ripple and swirl again. Hook, who was becoming accustomed to the mirror's behavior, simply stabbed a piece of fruit from the table and started eating as a new scene appeared before him. 

Before Hook's eyes materialized the interior of a pub. "Hear, hear!" cheered Hook. At the bar sat George and three other gentlemen, sat side by side, each with a pint.

"I haven't seen Stephen in ages," said one of the men.

"I saw him in the bank Thursday last, Fitzwilliam. He got married," George replied. The group collectively drew their breath.

"Why would he go and do a thing like that?" the man sitting next to George asked. He wore a gaudy suit and had heavily brillantined hair and a small pencil mustache. 

"Fell in love I suppose," George answered. All nodded and muttered concurrence.

"My father's been going on wanting me to find a wife. Thinks it would settle me down to forget my writing, I reckon. Not that I'm that eager, but if I were ever going to get married, I think I would ask Mary Sweet. She's smart, witty, beautiful, kind . . . the living embodiment of poetry," intoned the man near the end of the bar.

"Amazing no one has asked her yet," the bar keep added. "That young lady turns a few heads any time she's about."

The group exchanged glances for a moment.

"Look at the time! I have got to get to an appointment with my publisher. George, Henry, Fitzwilliam," he nodded to each in turn.

"I say, Edmund, thanks for reminding me. I almost forgot that I need to see my tailor," Fitzwilliam started and hastily headed toward the door after Edmund.

Henry and George sat quietly for a moment. "Well, I suppose I should be getting on. I have a number of young ladies who I am sure are wondering where I am," Henry said, extending a hand to George.

This left only George at the bar; he jumped from his seat and bolted for the door, checking to see if any of the others were in sight.

"Cabbie!!" George sprinted for the first cab he saw and shouted directions to the driver as he scrambled inside. The cab took off and as it rounded the corner, George passed Henry and Fitzwilliam. An almost sly smile crossed his face.

Hook raised his glass, "Congratulations George! Perhaps you aren't as beetleheaded as I first imagined."

When the hansom cab reached its destination, George hurriedly paid off the cab driver, dashed up the front steps and knocked on the door, all the while looking around to see if any of the others were in sight. When the door was opened by a maid, George practically fell in the door.

"Is Miss Sweet in?" he asked quickly. The girl barely had time to say that she was in the music room before George ran past her down the hall and pushed open a door. Hook could see Mary at the piano, younger but still beautiful, dressed all in white. She just had time to turn on the stool as George came dashing in, tripped, then skidded across the floor to land at her feet. 

"Brilliant, George. I can't think of any way of making a better impression," Hook commented dryly, expecting the man's determination to melt at the embarrassing situation.

In this, however, Hook misjudged his reflection. Before Mary could make more than an exclamation of concern, George grabbed her hand and blurted out, "Mary, will you stop being Sweet and be Darling?" Then he froze, his face turning a bright shade of red. 

"Wit? From you? I'm impressed," Hook said. "Mind you, it's terrible and certainly no way to go about proposing, but it's certainly unexpected." He watched Mary's face. It certainly seemed as if she were suppressing a smile. 

George, still suffused in a blush, started stammering, "I mean . . . could you . . . would you . . ."

"Burble, burble, burble. This is how you won your lady fair? You took a cab and got there first?" Hook muttered. "Do women have no standards?"

Mary sat still, as George stumbled into silence and looked up at her imploringly. She smiled at last, and bending slightly, took pity on him and said, "Yes, I will become a Darling, if you wish it."

Hook sighed. "Why, Woman, why? It obviously wasn't the speech." He watched as George sat stunned, looking as if he hadn't processed what he heard. "Good heavens, man. She said yes to you. Do something."

Light seemed finally to dawn on George. He leaped to his feet, pulling Mary up with him and into a sweeping hug before kissing her.

"That's a bit more like it, George. The fruits of victory, no matter how the victory is won." 

Hook sighed as he watched the two. Mary was looking at George with genuine warmth and love, and they were both laughing giddily. Was this why she accepted him? For the passion that let him make an ass of himself in pursuit of a goal? That's something Hook couldn't tolerate. A weak pirate was a dead pirate. He scrambled with his memory. Had there ever been any women in his own life? There must have been in the days before Neverland. He had vague memories of one, a pirate with dark eyes and a fierce temper. They had fought side by side and occasionally against one another. She had been a dab hand with a pistol. What was her name? Mad Molly, wasn't it? Had there ever been anything more than loot between them? He couldn't recall. There was so little he could remember of those long ago days, and now he was starting to feel queasy. The mirror began swirling and darkening, and it seemed as if the room itself was filling with fog. Hook struggled up from his seat, flailing wildly against the rolling clouds before falling flat to the floor unconscious. 


	5. Cruelty Has a Human Heart

Hook was drowning in his nightmares, trapped under the water and in the clutches of the mermaids. They were toying with him, pulling and scratching at him after ripping his harness and hook from him, and when it looked as if he were about to release his last breath, filled his lungs with putrid air from their own lips. They dragged him through the ocean, occasionally lifting him out of the water for the briefest of moments, barely long enough to get a mouthful of air, before dragging him back down. It seemed an endless cycle.

Finally, however, he found himself thrown onto a seaweed-strewn beach, where he coughed up rancid water and choked on sand. How long he lay there, he knew not, but at last he pulled himself up and began walking unsteadily inland.

He wasn't sure where he was. There were tall twisted trees and mist that glittered with reds, blues, golds, and greens. He felt cold and exposed and wished he could lay hand upon some weapon, as he stumbled into the woods. Leaves lay thick on the ground, but there didn't seem to be even a rock or stick for him to use. Shaking his head, Hook tried to clear his ears; sounds were all muffled, but he thought he could hear fairy music coming from ahead of him. He moved more carefully, not wanting to be spotted by anyone. The music grew louder, and Hook could see lights ahead of him. Cautiously and reluctantly, he crept closer until he was at the very edge of a large round clearing, so brilliantly illuminated that it took him some minutes to become acclimated to the glare. Hook felt a marrow deep weariness as he saw another fairy dance, a mixture of pixies and taller elven kind. God, did these things do nothing but frivol? Actually, he knew they could be quite dangerous to mortals who crossed their paths and wished desperately for a bit of iron. He sank down behind a stump, as he watched the elegant spinning pairs. Again he was alone, forbidden to find comfort in something as simple as a dance.

Hook shivered against the ground. Someone was watching him; he could feel it. Twisting around, he saw a pair of eyes staring from the foliage behind him. Then with a twinkle of laughter they vanished. Hook rose and followed; he knew not why. Stumbling through the woods, he could hear someone moving in front of him. 

Then in a moonlit clearing, he caught his first glance of a pale, slender woman in a dress of green scales, with long hair the colors of autumn leaves. He heard her laugh again as she glanced back over her shoulder before disappearing again into the woods. Hook continued to follow her deeper into the woods, getting glimpses of her every now and again or hearing her laughter. The brush grew thicker and thicker, until Hook was struggling to press his way through. The forest seemed to become like a spider's web, every step forward tangling him more among heavy creeping vines and cutting off any retreat, yet the only thing that mattered to Hook was reaching the mysterious woman. Finally, when it seemed as if he couldn't move another step, he saw her again just ahead of him. She was dancing in the middle of a small circle of stones under a brilliant stream of moonlight. Hook managed to reach the outermost edge of the circle and then froze, not daring to move. 

The woman was humming softly, a fairy melody, as she swirled around. Hook watched her, entranced. The revolutions of her dance were bringing her closer to where he stood, yet she seemed oblivious to his presence until she was just in front of him. Then she stopped and looked at him curiously, her dark eyes peering into his soul. 

"What can ail ye, wretched wight?" she asked with a cold smile, leaning closer to him.

Hook couldn't answer, and as he struggled to move, he suddenly realized that the creeping vines had been steadily wrapping themselves around him until he was almost completely enmeshed.

The woman laughed softly, running a hand up the clinging vines to the stump of his right arm which was partially free, but quite useless in Hook's estimation. "Alas, Captain Jas. Hook," she whispered, "it seems you've lost something quite valuable. It saved you from the crocodile, but what will save you now?" The vines began tightening around him. She leaned close to his ear. "You die alone and unloved . . . unlike me."

Turning swiftly, she walked away from Hook who was now struggling with his bonds and the suffocating grip across his chest. At the edge of the circle, the woman beckoned to someone. Hook was astonished to see his old bosun shambling across the circle to her. 

"Smee!" he choked out, with as much imperiousness as he could muster.

The old pirate turned and looked at him over the edge of his glasses. "Sorry, Cap'n. She says you're to die alone. Got to get on with my duties." Smee followed the woman out of the clearing.

Hook could no longer breathe, and the world was black before his eyes. Was this death at last? It was almost a relief, but he still tried one last effort to free himself and screamed out to the heavens–– and then found himself back in the bedroom of the Keep. 

For a few moments, Hook stared around blankly at his surroundings before a deep fury set in. Could whatever unearthly powers ran this place not let him fall asleep on his own? Now he wished his dream were real; at least that was death clean and final, not this lingering tomb. With careful deliberation, he got up, dressed in the finest the wardrobe had to offer, and screwed the double bladed hook into place. Then with equal care, Hook set about tearing, ripping, slashing, and breaking every single object in the room. However, once finished, glaring at the chaos he created, Hook was still not satisfied. Pillows don't bleed, and he wanted to kill, to watch life bleed away at his feet. There was not even a cockroach to vent his spleen upon. 

Frustrated and still furious, Hook stalked back to Mary's portrait. "Is it you, darling lady," he whispered, "who's responsible for this? Is it because I threatened your precious children?" The edge of his hook rested just below her ear. "If only I had you here, I'm sure I'd learn swiftly enough. As it is. . . ." Hook pushed the door open and headed directly to the mirror, which he struck full force with his hook; the glass shimmered. Hook sighed and sank into the chair. "Show me the day the children ran away with Pan." 

When the mirror cleared, Hook saw George sitting at his desk in the bank, scribbling notes on small talk. 

"Oh, yes. It _is_ essential to write down, 'I say, nice weather we are having.' Such scintillating remarks are so terribly easy to forget. Can you not determine to be a man without having to resort to prompting? It still amazes me that you managed to marry much less father children," Hook said.

The fateful moment arrived. George spotted the bank president and with hesitant steps began his approach, muttering to himself as he walked across the floor. Hook was expecting a stammering George and an awkward attempt at wit, but what actually took place surprised him. As George was standing stuttering in vain attempts at conversation, there was a sudden commotion behind him. Hook saw Wendy chasing what appeared to be a messenger boy and heard her shouting incoherently. Hard on her heels was the nanny-dog who slipped on the floor skidding against Wendy, the boy, George, and his superiors, bowling them all over like a bunch of ninepins. 

George, much to Hook's surprise, handled the disaster rather well for a weak man. In a like situation, Hook knew that he'd first kill the dog and then the first man who dared laugh. Though stumbling over himself and his superiors with apologies, George managed to pull himself together enough to get his wayward children and dog in order and on the way home with at least a few slivers of dignity intact. 

Once home, Hook could see George's barely contained agitation building as he, Mary, and Aunt Millicent discussed the day's events, and the children were sent to get ready for bed. Apparently, Wendy's teacher was in an uproar over some picture the child drew. George was more concerned with the incident in the bank. 

"If only we had a proper nurse," George said, his voice getting shriller, "she would have kept the children in line without slipping all about. I don't know how I'm to face everyone this evening."

Mary replied gently, "Nana does the best she can, dear. No one could be more concerned about the children. Accidents do happen."

George stood quietly for a moment, possibly mollified, but then Nana stuck her nose in the door, and the sight of her seemed to madden him. He grabbed her by the collar and began dragging her to the back of the house followed by his family.

"I have been humiliated!" he shrieked. "No! I must become a man that children fear and adults respect, or we shall all end up in the street!"

Leaning back in the chair, Hook muttered, "I'm a man children fear and adults respect––indeed, fear, as well–– and I have nothing more to look forward to than observing you. Fear is not all it should be."

Millicent was imploring him to be quiet lest the neighbors hear, but George was not to be reasoned with.

"Let them hear! Let the whole world know!" George looked down at Nana. "This is not a nurse! This is a dog." He tore off her nurse's hat, to gasps of disbelief from his family; then he rounded on Wendy. "Tomorrow you begin your instruction with Aunt Millicent. It's time for you to grow up."

Wendy looked horrified. Aunt Millicent seemed pleased and proud with the idea of training her niece or perhaps just because she'd gotten her way; Hook couldn't tell and didn't really care either. It was Mary who puzzled him. What was she thinking? She was regarding Wendy with a sympathetic glance and George with an indefinable one: was it irritation, understanding, disappointment, or a mix of them all? However, she made no comment other than telling the children it was time to go up to the nursery before leading them back into the house, leaving George alone with Nana. He stood staring blankly about for a moment and then, as if he could not take the forlorn expression in the dog's eyes, hurried inside himself. 

Hook began drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. He knew Pan was coming, could feel his cocky presence in the air, and yet there was no visible sign. George and Mary dressed for their party, George dawdling over it after helping Mary with her gown. Hook noted that it was the one she wore in the portrait, though he couldn't fathom if it had any significance. She left the room to wish the children goodnight, while George stood fiddling with his tie in front of the mirror. He made several attempts to tie it, all ending in failure. Hesitatingly, he headed towards the nursery.

"Oh, brimstone and gall, man, you could be firm enough in a fury. Just move," Hook muttered.

George walked gingerly toward the half-open door, but froze at the sound of Wendy saying in tones of scorn, "Father? Brave?"

Hook could just barely see Mary and the children where they sat together on a bed and had to strain to hear Mary's response.

"There are many different kinds of bravery. There's the bravery of thinking of others before oneself," she said. "Now, your father has never brandished a sword nor fired a pistol, thank heavens. But he's made many sacrifices for his family and put away many dreams."

"Is this why?" Hook whispered, his eyes riveted on the nearly hidden scene. The youngest child, the one with the teddy bear, was speaking about dreams.

"Where did he put them?"

Though he could not see her face, Hook could imagine her gentle smile as she answered. "He put them in a drawer. And sometimes, late at night, we take them out and admire them. But it gets harder and harder to close the drawer. He does. And that is why he is brave." 

George stood transfixed, until he saw Mary getting up from the bed, and then quietly slipped back to their room where he stared pensively into the mirror, making a half-hearted attempt at his tie. Hook slid lower in his seat. "She really is too good for you, George, but she does love you." He scratched at the cushions irritably.

Mary returned to the room. George turned quickly and spoke. "Sorry, my dear. It's this tie. It absolutely refuses to tie, no matter what I do. Round the bedpost, yes, but around my neck, no, it begs to be excused."

"Let me try, dear," Mary said, reaching up with cool hands and tying it easily. "There, it's done."

George placed his hands over hers and leaned in to give her a kiss. "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you." 

Mary seemed surprised but smiled at him. George coughed and said, "I suppose it's time we were off. It seems a pity, though, to go out."

They walked downstairs together, George looking more and more as if he were walking to his execution, while Mary also started looking nervous.

Millicent was waiting at the foot of the stairs with advice for the evening, while George got his coat and his wife's wrap. Hook shifted in the chair. The sense of Pan's presence was increasing, and though he knew it was ridiculous, that he was watching memories, Hook wanted to bellow to the two of them to stay home.

"Blast it, just get this done."

Millicent annoyingly cheerful opened the door, as she finished up by saying, "And remember, every cloud has a silver lining."  
  


George stared out at the weather. "Oh, no . . . it's snowing. Oh, we'll catch our death," he said, turning to go back in. Mary looked slightly relieved before Millicent stopped him.

"Better death than gossip," she said firmly. "You will enter that drawing room with your head held high."

George looked at Mary who gave him another smile. He seemed to take courage from that, placed his hat firmly on his head and offered her his arm as they started down the street. Hook was frustrated as he watched them hurry away and started pacing irritably as he watched them enter a house a short walk from their own. The pair crossed a busy room to the man George had bowled over not too many hours before. He was chuckling in a group, and George laughed affectedly behind him, earning a somewhat cool look from the man.

"I suppose that's progress for you," Hook snapped, pausing for a moment to stand in front of the mirror. 

George quickly said, "May I introduce my wife. . . ." He paused nervously until prompted by his wife. "Mary."

The bank president looked at Mary with a great deal more pleasure than he had at George, and she behaved with a grace and dignity. George had an expression of relief and pride on his face as he glanced at his wife. It was a short-lived expression, as Nana, at that moment, came tearing into the ballroom and leaped onto George. They both divined at once that something was seriously wrong. The moment George could get to his feet he started running for the door with Mary at his side and Nana in the lead. They stopped for nothing as they raced for home. Ahead of them, Hook could see the figure of Pan floating outside the nursery window. 

"Hurry, blast it!" Hook shouted, as he watched the parents burst through the front door and dash up the stairs with a startled Millicent in pursuit.

But as he already knew, they were too late. The nursery was empty, and George and Mary reached the window only in time to see their children disappear in the distance, followed by Pan. Mary collapsed with a cry, and George fell to his knees beside her. In the anguish of the Darlings, Hook felt a new kind of rage, unlike any he had known before.


	6. My Soul is Dark

Hook stalked through the halls of the keep blindly. He couldn't stay in that room, and he hoped that by constant motion he could avoid being ignominiously forced back into nightmare sleep. His head was full of the lamentations and self-recriminations of the Darlings. Mary blamed herself for going to the party when her children asked her to stay. Millicent blamed herself because she should have known something odd was happening under her very nose. George, however, insisted on it being all his own doing, his temper, his mistakes, his stubborness. Nana, he insisted, was the one who had done her duty when he failed in his. No one mentioned the boy who had flown off with their children though they had seen him very clearly through the window, and it was at that point that Hook had stormed out of the room.

After an aimless circuit around the keep, randomly smashing anything that came within reach of his hook, he finally found himself on a turret of the keep. The sky was heavy with dark grey clouds, though there was no sign of rain. Below, the fog was as thick and clinging as before, and there was no sign of wind to alleviate the oppressive atmosphere. Hook stared down dully, thoughts racing round and round his head. Pan had broken the rules of Neverland by bringing the Darling children there. Only lost children were supposed to be taken there. They weren't supposed to be snatched from their nurseries. It certainly wasn't his fault they had come to Neverland, had gotten involved in his feud with the insolent youth. He had no control over the land, and no way to escape, except apparently by being swallowed by a crocodile. Frankly, however, this was a more crushing prison than Neverland ever was. The silence seemed to press in on him, and Mary's stricken face was etched in his mind. He could not take much more of his solitary reverie, and Hook marched back to the mirror room. 

"Let me see more," he said with a sigh, sitting back down in the chair. The mirror started swirling.

Hook saw Mary asleep in the chair near the window of the nursery. She looked worn. Hook wished he knew how much time had passed; it could not have been too much. Mary stirred slightly, and Hook suddenly noticed something was at the window. Pan! He leapt from the chair, hook twitching convulsively. What was the brat doing there?

Mary whispered Wendy's name in her sleep, and Pan, looking to Hook's eyes more demonic than ever, said softly, "We can't both have her, lady." Then he pushed the window closed. Hook wanted to tear the boy's heart out. When was this? Surely, it couldn't have been after he'd been swallowed by the crocodile.

As the window shut, Mary awoke with a gasp and raced through the room looking at the beds and calling her children's names. The nanny dog barked at the window, and Mary looked at it in horror, before running and trying to get it open. Though he couldn't see Pan, Hook could imagine him pushing down on the window from above. Infernal brat.

"George! George, help me!" Mary called from the window. 

A heavy thump from behind her drew Hook's attention to the doghouse for the first time, and to his amazement he saw George scrambling out of the thing.

"What is it? Have they returned?" he asked, trying to get to his feet.

"The window is closed! It must always be open for them," she said, as she and George struggled to push the window up. "Always! Always!" The window finally flew open, and the two parents stared out of the window with fading hope. Hook wished he could get his claws into Pan at that moment.

"They've not returned," George said mournfully. 

Mary fell back to her chair with a sob, and George sat near her and took her hand for just a moment. Then he spoke with a curious kind of resignation. "Back to the doghouse." 

"But, George . . ." Mary looked pained, and Hook wondered why that nitwit would rather sit in a doghouse than comfort his wife.

"No," George said with stubborn determination as he settled in. "This is the place for me, and here I shall stay until they return."

Mary moved over to the doghouse and knelt in front of it. She spoke hesitatingly, "It is a _punishment_ , isn't it, George?"

George looked up inquiringly. "Hmm?" 

Mary paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "You're sure you're not . . . enjoying it?"

Hook laughed. Of course the man was enjoying it. After all, what could he do? Could he fly to Neverland? Take a pistol to Pan, a boy Hook could never manage to kill? What else could he do but punish himself in some melodramatic fashion. He was surprised though to hear George's reply.

"I have worried about that, Mary, so I have taken steps to make it worse. I have hired men to carry me to the office and back in the doghouse, so the whole world can see my failure. The neighbors, the bank, everyone."

Hook had a hard time believing the man would go that far for a statement, but if he did, that was at least a truly flamboyant gesture for him.

Suddenly, the image in the mirror began to swirl and grow dark. After a few moments, it was gone. "Well now, that wasn't very nice. I would have liked to see if the fool would actually have himself carried to and from work in such an asinine fashion. It would certainly have completed the picture."

Hook simply stood there, staring at the empty mirror. His gaze was intent, as though he could force the mirror to reveal an image through the power of his will. However, it was of no avail. After what seemed like a very long time, he relented. He closed his eyes and turned away from the mirror as if he didn't want it to see the vexation his countenance betrayed.

"Giving up?"

Hook's eyes snapped open. He looked about the room. Though barely a whisper, he had clearly heard someone speaking. Still, by all appearances, he was alone. "Well, I was wondering how long before I would go mad," he said calmly and matter of factly.

"Oh come now. You were mad long before you came here." The voice was louder this time.

"Where are you?"

"I'm right here. I'm right there. I've always been right here or there. Anywhere you've been. Anywhere you are."

Hook tried in vain to discern the source of the voice. It seemed to come from everywhere all at once. He stormed from the room and into the adjoining gallery. Slowly, he scanned the portraits along the walls. Nothing seemed out of place.

Finally, he strode over to the mirror. At first, it was dark and empty like its neighbor. Hook lowered his head. "I have gone mad," he said with an ever so slight hint of despair in his voice.

"I told you. I'm right here."

Hook looked up at the mirror. There before him was the reflection he saw when he first arrived. It was George Darling. Only, it couldn't be George Darling. The look in this man's eyes was steely and riveting, nothing at all like the man Hook had been observing only minutes before.

"Who are you?" Hook asked.

"I'm you."

"What?"

"I'm you and you're me. I told you. Everywhere you've been. Everywhere you are. But always you're right here," said the man in the mirror, tapping the side of his head with his finger. "This is your story, Hook."

Instantly, Hook felt all his strength drain away. He collapsed on the floor like a puppet whose strings had been severed. He could still see and hear everything about him but he was powerless to move. He looked up at the mirror. The image stared down at him with more than a little disdain in his eyes.

"Your story Hook, is at an end."

Hook's vision blurred and swirled. He felt as though he were sinking into the floor. The image in the mirror, the portraits, the entire room retreated further and further away from him until all that was left was darkness and a cold that froze him to the marrow. Struggling, Hook opened his eyes and found himself back in the devil's glade of his nightmares, but the vines instead of strangling him, slid slowly away from him, closing off the path behind. 

Cold and weary but urged by forces he couldn't understand, Hook crossed the stone circle and entered a narrow twisting trail. As he walked along, he began to hear a low crooning sound. The foliage started clearing in front of him and he saw another stone circle, but this time he saw the woman in the green dress, sitting at the edge of a large red blanket with a basket beside her. At least he thought it was the same woman; he couldn't see her face from where he stood, and he didn't dare approach her. Across from her, he could see three curious dolls made from straw and propped up against rocks, and each wearing a white napkin tied across its neck. The woman took a loaf of bread from the basket and started slicing it. All the time she kept her face turned away from Hook. 

He watched as she placed the slices of bread in front of the dolls. "Here, children, you need to eat. You're not looking well," she said in a coaxing tone.

Hook would not have been surprised if the dolls had started eating the bread. Nothing would really have surprised him at this point, but the dolls did nothing. The woman tried putting a slice into the mouth of one and then drew back suddenly as if stung. 

"Oh, my heart," she sighed and then fell forward, apparently senseless. 

Without thinking, Hook rushed forward. Just as he reached down to help her, she suddenly twisted around, stabbing him with the knife she'd used to cut the bread. Her face was that of Mary Darling. "For my babies," she hissed, as she yanked the knife back.

Hook staggered back and fell to his knees, his eyes fixed on her face as the world narrowed and blackened around her until he could only see her eyes, wide and filled with a deep grief. Then he woke to find himself back in in that blasted bedchamber.

For some time he lay there, staring at the ceiling. Then slowly he climbed out of bed, and with careful deliberation strapped on his sharpest hook and dressed in his finest clothes before making his way back up to the gallery and stopping in front of Mary's portrait.

"All right, dear lady. I'm ready to end this. Now and forever," he whispered, and pushed through to the inner room.


	7. Haply I May Remember, and Haply May Forget

Hook stood directly in front of the empty mirror, staring at its blank expanse. What would it take to finish this? He was tired of everything; he wasn't meant to live in such solitude. If this place would just finish with him and let him truly die. Or at least give him something to fight. 

"Let this end," he said, laying his hand flat against the glass. Though he would never have actually said 'please', he was thinking it.

The mirror started rippling outward over his hand and around his body. He couldn't move as the glass flowed around him like a sea of mercury, encasing him inside a bubble of glass. The room was gone, and he was floating above London just above hefty fog banks. It took him a few moments to orient himself to his strange position. Then he was stunned by the sight of his ship sailing towards him in the skies of London. It was a magnificent spectacle, glowing with fairy dust, if he could only take her and fly to lands far beyond Neverland and away from that dratted boy, but that was not to be. He sighed as he began to sink below the fogline (or perhaps everything was rising around him, it was impossible for him to tell). He'd hoped to see the children leave the ship, but instead found himself drifting over the streets in the direction of the Darling home. He felt as insubstantial as a ghost, floating through the fog. Once or twice, he thought he caught a glimpse of that ridiculous doghouse going through the streets, though he was never certain. 

Soon however, he found himself just above the nursery window of the Darling home, where he could see Mary sleeping in a chair by the window, waiting for the brats to come home. It would have served them right if she'd locked them out and went away on a long holiday. But that's something she would never do.

The sight of Mary sleeping so peacefully was sublime but for Hook, it was short lived. The vision before him began to fade. At first, he didn't think much of it. This was an experience to which he had grown accustomed. However, something was different this time. Everything was swirling violently and he felt as though an unseen hand had reached through his back, grabbed his stomach, and was pulling him quickly from the window.

Just as the distorted image of the window disappeared into darkness, another began to form. Hook feared he was about to be flung back into that accursed room but as he slowed and the vision grew more detailed, it soon became clear that he was going somewhere else. Ignorant though he was of his destination, he thought that anyplace would be better than the mysterious keep from which escape heretofore seemed impossible.

Curiously, the window was coming back into view. Only this time, he was on the inside of it looking out into the sky where he had been suspended only moments before. "I'm coming! What is it?" Was that his voice? It couldn't have been. It seemed to come from his head but it sounded nothing like him. Hook tried to move, to speak, to shout, to curse, but it was all to no avail.

Suddenly, the brats stood before him. "We're back, Father. Did you miss us?" The boy was talking to him! Something else was happening to him as well, emotions not his own were beating on his mind, relief, joy, embarassment.

"You're back. Good. Excellent. Well done." There was that voice again, ringing in his head. A hand, an actual right hand instead of a hook, reached out in front of him and took the boy John's hand. Gradually, the truth became evident. Hook had become little more than a spectator in George Darling's head. He could see, hear, and feel everything just as if he _were_ George but was powerless to do anything of his own volition. For a fleeting moment, the keep seemed somewhat inviting.

Hook watched helplessly as George wrapped his arms around John, overwhelmed by the man's joy. "Oh, my angels." He knelt and reached out to hug Michael, laughing. "Of course I missed you." He looked at Wendy, smiled, and reached out to hug her. For a moment, Hook wondered if she could see him through her father's eyes.

Millicent entered the room, followed by the lost boys. Hook tried harder than ever to will George to lash out at the lot; he felt as if he were drowning in George's happiness and deafened by Millicent's squeals of delight.

Wendy ran over to the boys. "Mother, Father, I would like to introduce the Lost Boys."

"Hello," all said in near unison. 

"May I keep them?" Wendy asked.

George stood up and groped for the right words. "Well, I . . . I . . ." Mary looked at George pleadingly. "I mean, the expense," he said.

"Think of the neighbors," Milicent said just above a whisper.

"Think of me," Hook thought, even though he knew what George was thinking and feeling.

George looked at the boys and then at Millicent. "Dash the neighbors!" he bellowed. "And dash the expense! Welcome to the family, boys."

They all rushed him and knocked him down in a hug, saying thank you repeatedly. 

"Oh! You had to pick now to finally grow a spine!" Hook wailed. Of all things in his life he never expected to experience, this was well up in the top, pummelled by Lost Boys out of gratitude.

Michael dumped out the bag of treasure they took from Smee: "Will this help the expense, Father?"

George stared at it the pile in utter amazement for a moment, but Hook knew that the treasure was of small importance to him. Hook though was fuming at the thought. "Anyone for a pony ride?" George shouted. The children cheered and descended on him afresh.

In the midst of hugging and talking, Mary sidled over to George who leaned in and kissed her gently. "Oh, well. I suppose there is something to be said for this life of George's," Hook mused.

Unnoticed by most of the room but not by Hook, Pan watched outside the window. "To live would be an awfully big adventure," he murmured. Hook was torn– what would be worse Pan here forced to grow up or back in Neverland always the same, never changing? Next to Pan, Tink played a little violin. Whatever thought had held Pan seemed to pass, and he was himself again, all sufficient boy. Hook wanted to gut him, as he saw Wendy going to the window.

"Peter!" she called.

Pan paused in midair and looked back to see Wendy at the window. "You won't forget me, will you?" she asked. 

Hook desperately tried to will George to grab her by the heels in case she started after the boy. "Mary will never forgive you, if you fail again. Let me loose and I'll drown him for you."

"Me? Forget? Never." Pan gave a kind of half wave as he started to leave. _Oh, he knows he won't remember_ , Hook thought, still itching to slap the irritating fellow down.

"Will you come back?" Wendy asked.

Pan turned back, looking a little more cocky than usual. "To hear stories . . . about me."

_You won't return if you know what's good for you, boy_ , Hook thought. _Neverland is your realm, stay there and be damned with you._

There was more celebrating back in the nursery, and Hook lost himself in the festivities. With Pan gone, most of his fighting spirit seemed to have left him; he felt tired. After Mary, George and Millicent (who somehow seemed to have acquired one of the Lost Boys as her own) got the children settled down for the night or as settled as overly enthusiastic children could be expected to be, Hook found himself for a moment alone with Mary. She was so happy that she seemed to glow. He was entranced by the vision of that kiss on the right hand corner of her mouth. With a strange impulse that seemed to come from neither George or himself, he with a curious autonomy leaned forward and just managed to catch that kiss. Mary looked at him with a gentle smile that seemed to reach inside to just where Hook was.

_Ha,_ he thought with satisfaction, _not everything is for the boy after all. Now, now, I think I can rest_. He felt tired, and over Mary's shoulder he caught a glimpse of George's reflection in the mirror. Odd, to see a mirror that was just a mirror again. Everything around him seemed to darken and he felt as if he was drifting off to sleep. _Peace at last, unless Pan returns_. _If he does, George, I'll be waiting right here. I just hope you're up to what we'll have to do._

The End


End file.
